


And Fighting For Our Freedom We Are Free

by Pforte



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Angst, M/M, Survivor Guilt, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pforte/pseuds/Pforte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the final battle. Freedom of choice is also burden of choice and while Nasir would live Agron seems overcome with the guilt of survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Fighting For Our Freedom We Are Free

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from Siegfried Sassoon's 'Absolution', which I thought is quite fitting.

The camp was silent as night fell. They had evaded Roman patrols twice that day, their little group made up of the old, women, children and far too few warriors. Exhausted, most now lay asleep where they had dropped and wolfed down their meagre portion of cold gruel. 

Agron’s lips were pressed to a thin line. He had barely spoken since they had left Spartacus in deathly slumber beneath his shield. Neither had he touched food all day. Dirt and blood were etched into the lines of his face. As he sat staring into the approaching dark, hunched over, he was looking as pale as the dead and much older than his years. 

Stepping closer, Nasir made fresh attempt, a bowl with food in hand. “Please, Agron, you need to regain strength of body and mind.”

“To what fucking purpose?” What usually sounded defiant was now hollow voice. 

Nasir exhaled in frustration. “Living! Despite everything, we left field of battle alive. Yet one would think that you died with him.” _Him_. Spartacus. His loss was still fresh and the pain dulled by disbelief that he had truly left them for the afterlife. The debt they all owed him not fully repaid.

Agron looked up, his gaze still fixed on something Nasir could not see. “I stood brother to Spartacus and Crixus. Of all who left Batiatus’ ludus, I am the only one yet of this world. I failed them. I failed my brothers.”

In two steps Nasir was by Agron’s side, an angry hiss escaping him. After putting the bowl on the ground, his hands closed tightly around Agron’s shoulders. “I won’t have you wallow in guilt when you should thank the gods for their kindness! You live, Agron. We survived. This is chance to seize life away from blood and steel. Do not make mockery of this blessing!”

Agron looked at him then, for the first time really looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot reflections of the war clamouring inside him. “But of all my brothers why am I deserving?”

He truly believes he should have died with them, Nasir realised, and that this was deserved fate for a brother, a soldier, a gladiator. Death in the arena, even if the arena itself was burnt to the ground. 

“You avenged your brother by birth by killing as many Romans as would want to meet your sword. Spartacus, your brother by shared mark, died avenging beloved wife. Naevia died avenging Crixus. Where does this end? Why can you not accept blessing? You do not honour the fallen by declaring defeat or continuing fateful battle absent cause. Spartacus would want you to lead his people to true freedom. Freedom to choose their own destiny. Why must yours be bound forever to the dead? Deserving or not, the gods decided to have us live. Do not repay favour by challenging their judgement.” Nasir’s voice was low and intense, pressing into Agron as Nasir’s fingers did into his shoulders. He could not lose him again. 

“I am thankful that you live,” Agron conceded, a small smile on his lips. 

“I believed you dead not long ago.” Nasir choked out the words. “After _you_ removed choice, after you decided that _my_ life would be worth living while yours would not. I stand no slave, the choice is mine. And there is no life for me away from you. I walked with you into battle expecting to greet death at its end. If now you planned foolish attack on Rome, I would be by your side. Are men from east of the Rhine prone to be slow of understanding?” Nasir swallowed down old resentment. The love he felt for the man had never been more painful and strong than when he had believed him dead, gone from this world because of his own straying eye. Even now it was written on Agron’s face that his heart was filled with doubt; he believed that he was cheated of life’s purpose, a glorious death. Opening his eyes to see reason would take time. 

The light was dim yet Nasir could see the frown on Agron’s forehead. Had he truly listened with mind as well as heart? His love seemed indisputable but would it rival meaning of unquenchable anger towards Rome? Eventually Nasir heard him say, “I was errant fool to treat you thus. Apologies.” Apologies for what? Nasir remembered well the sting of being cast aside. 

“Fuck your apologies! Spartacus and Crixus are dead, they no longer have need of you. Those who did not fall on field of battle were nailed to cross, as you were. They no longer need you. I do. _They_ do,” Nasir implored, gesturing to the people around them, sleeping the sleep of grief and exhaustion. “And it is time you pulled head out of arse and put mind to purpose!”

“I do not stand as their fucking leader,” Agron ground out angrily. Yes, Nasir thought, reason finally cracked stubborn skull. 

“Yet you are all they have left; they look up to you as you stand Spartacus’s brother and trusted general. Together we shall see them and ourselves to safety,” Nasir urged him, undeterred.

“And what are we going to do once we have fled the clutches of Rome? I told you, I am no shepherd. Killing Roman shits is all that I am good at. _Was_ good at.”

Nasir’s smile was fierce as he lifted his hand to cup Agron’s face. “The man who stood as gladiator and slave died in bloody rebellion. Now you stand newborn. You can be anything you like.”

Agron snorted. “With broken body and hands as fucking useless as these?” 

Nasir leant in and pressed a soft kiss against Agron’s lips, which became soft and pliable at last. “Cared for by loving hands your wounds will heal,” he murmured. 

Yet abruptly, Agron pulled back from Nasir’s caress. “Not fast enough to keep those Roman cunts away. Today we pushed our luck unduly. Soon we shall be discovered and then what? I cannot even hold a sword.” 

“Yet despite grievous injuries you served bloody purpose upon field of final battle, which was drenched in Roman blood spilt by your hand. You saved Spartacus from ignominious death by Crassus’ sword and you live to tell the tale of slave rebellion. That should be enough for any man. Look around, now that we have come this far the mountains offer protection. Perhaps the gods are with us.”

“Fuck the gods. If they were with us, we would be legion.” 

Nasir thought of all their dead and could not find words to argue. What followed was mournful silence. Too many were no longer with them, had perished in Sinuessa, on Melia Ridge, on field of battle and at the foot of the mountains. Nasir’s eyes found the sky where clouds were hanging dull and sombre. The stars were hidden with only the moon to be seen as a pale, diffuse shape. He felt Agron shift and suddenly his hands were cupping Nasir’s face, the bandages rough against his cheeks. Nasir blinked, eyes now caught by the one who always shone steady and bright. 

“Quieten concern! I see that your words hold truth. It may look like the gods fucked us hard and bloody but as long as we are not absent cause there is still another fight left in me. We shall see them to freedom, as was promised them by honoured brother. I shall see you content.” Agron spoke softly, yet resolve had returned to his voice. With a sigh of relief, Nasir closed the gap between them and this time Agron kissed him back, lips warm and tender against Nasir’s. Another sigh escaped him and he put his arms around Agron’s neck. 

“I thought I would never have this again in this world. You in my arms.” Even to his own ears Nasir’s voice sounded small and raw but he did not mind. Another kiss was reward, softer still, and he was pulled in firm embrace. Then Agron’s stomach grumbled and Nasir pulled back, laughing quietly. 

“I shall see you to food and then organise watch.” He handed Agron the bowl. 

“Gratitude.” Agron gulped down a mouthful and pulled a face. “This is fucking disgusting. We need proper food.”

The smile was still on Nasir’s face, when he replied, “Tomorrow let us seek game instead of Romans then.”

“Sweeter of taste,” Agron agreed, “though not as pleasing to kill.” 

 

***

 

They awoke with stiff joints and frosted breath. Winter gave up on the mountains late. 

“No matter,” said Agron. “Our blood will warm up on our path to freedom.” He stood tall and moved with new vigour, Nasir was pleased to see. Their little group was moving within the hour, hushed figures urging each other on in the pale light of dawn.

“When will we reach shelter?” Laeta asked. “Many of us need proper rest and not all can abide many more of these cold nights. We may lose more of our numbers.”

Agron nudged Nasir, silently urging him to answer. He attacks Roman armies without second thought, Nasir reflected, amused, but he is helpless facing a woman.

“Do what you can to ease burden of those that are weakest.” Nasir’s eyes found the ragged path crawling up the mountain. They had a long, steep, dangerous way ahead and he feared that more would lose life before seeing shelter. “Attempt to cross is made hazardous by the weather but we are absent choice. If we are to reach safety, we shall have to cross the mountains on narrow paths.” Laeta, who knew all this but had hoped for other words all the same, nodded and fell back to a small group of orphans led by Sibyl. 

“I wonder how many would have remained with their masters if they had held knowledge of their future,” Agron said in a low voice. 

“You mistake despair over cold and hunger for wish to stand enslaved once more,” Nasir replied, frowning. “Remember Spartacus’s last words.”

 

***

 

They caught two rabbits and a hare and, sheltered by a furrowed ledge, they had a fire that night to warm hands and meat to warm bellies. Agron was himself again and gave instructions to those still holding weapons. For the first time Nasir allowed himself to think about a future with both of them alive. What would it be like to share hearth and bed of their own? To see vaguest dream fulfilled would be precious beyond words. Death had seemed certain only a few days ago. Nasir breathed in the cold, thin mountain air, enjoyed the sting in his lungs, and thought of those who would never draw breath again: Naevia, whose eyes had been brightest when Crixus was near, a vengeful fire burning within her slender frame; Saxa, who had fought as she loved, with wild abandon and plain words upon tongue; Donar, his common sense and sardonic wit forever to be missed; Gannicus, who was rarely without wine and women and whose face had lit up at the prospect of any fight; Lugo, who would never call Nasir little again. Castus, who – 

A warm hand on his shoulder interrupted his heavy thoughts. Agron crouched down beside him. “Would that I could take over the burden that weighs down upon your heart but I fear that I yet share it.” 

“We shall take their memory with us across the mountains. They will forever be close to heart.”

Agron nodded fiercely. “They shall never be forgotten.” 

Nasir covered Agron’s hand with his own and counted himself lucky to yet be of this world, where warmth and human touch held meaning. 

“Nasir.” Agron looked at him with the kind of all-encompassing, protective, ridiculous love that Nasir had come to accept as wholly his. When he had believed it gone, he had been nearly absent will to live. To be loved by Agron was challenge as well as privilege because Agron threw himself into all battles, did nothing by halves, and Nasir was forever changed by it.

“I know,” Nasir said and squeezed Agron’s hand. The look of relief turned radiant smile on Agron’s face made Nasir’s breath hitch. 

As they got ready for sleep, Agron took his place by Nasir’s side, wrapping himself around him and offering comfort and body heat. Nasir closed his eyes to Agron’s breath against his neck and his arms around him, and sleep came fast and dreamless. He did not stir when Agron left for his watch and woke to gentle touch upon his cheek mere hours before dusk. 

Leaning on his spear, Nasir watched over this little band of survivors and listened for approaching enemy. The wind picked up, tearing into Sibyl, into Laeta, children and warriors alike, blowing away the ashes of their little fire. But nature’s assault was not joined by human forces. Despite the wind, Agron fell asleep for a few more hours and Nasir’s eyes strayed from watch every now and then. Nasir remembered the other man’s warmth against his back and a smile tucked on the corners of his mouth. The gods had willed it, Nasir knew, that no one else would ever hold his heart. 

 

***

 

Attack came by sundown two days later and Nasir’s spear was once more bloodied. Unable to grip sword, Agron was still a force to be reckoned with – he killed one Roman by slamming him into rock and another by crushing skull against stone. By the end of the skirmish, seven Romans and two of their numbers lay dead, with another woman never to meet another day. 

“Stay hand!” Agron commanded a rebel who was about to kill the eighth Roman. “I will put questions to him.” The woman hissed in frustration but halted descent of deadly spear. Kara, her name is Kara, Nasir remembered. A fresh cut on his arm stung sharply but relief surged through him that the blood covering Agron did not appear to be his. 

Agron had reached their captive and slammed his foot against the Roman soldier’s chest, holding him down. It was not necessary. The man was bleeding heavily from many cuts and a deep wound on his right side; Nasir knew that it was only matter of time till he succumbed to injury. 

“How many other patrols are near? Open mouth, you Roman fuck!” Agron demanded with menacing growl.

“What threat do you hold, slave? I am for the afterlife.” The Roman wheezed. 

Agron took off his foot and kicked the Roman’s side right where he lay wounded. The man yelped and groaned. “I hold threat of pain,” Agron said. “Now speak and I may withhold it.” 

“There are many more,” the soldier rasped and was rewarded by fearful gasps from the fugitives. Agron gave him a calculating glance, then kicked him hard a second time. 

“No others,” the Roman croaked this time. “We…we came upon you by chance after getting lost on mountainside. We are Pompeii’s men and strangers to these parts.” Red, fresh blood drenched the ground on which he lay. Agron made as if to kick again and the Roman shouted, “I speak truth, may the gods strike me down!” Agron smiled grimly, then nodded to Kara who rammed the spear into the man’s heart – once, twice – and _twisted_. The Roman groaned and gasped again, the wet sound of blood in his lungs announcing imminent death. Then there was silence.

“We move now,” Agron ordered, breaking the spell. All who stood immobile now reached for what held meaning to them. 

“What about her? She cannot be moved,” Laeta said, kneeling by the injured woman, holding her hand. Nasir moved to her side and put a hand on the woman’s forehead. She was old with white hair and brittle skin, and her neck was stark white where slave collar had covered skin for many decades. Laeta was right, she could not be moved. 

“What is your name?” Nasir asked gently. The woman’s eyes were unfocussed as if she was already seeing the lands of the dead. Agron made a frustrated noise and Nasir knew how hard it was for him to make allowance for weakness. 

“If we are to believe this Roman scum we are safe for now. But we need shelter for the night which mountain path does not provide. Nasir, see if you can find a place nearby,” Agron eventually said. Nasir nodded. He got up and moved swiftly but Agron’s hand stayed him when made to walk past. “I shall never trust the word of a fucking Roman. Move with caution,” he urged and leaned down to brush lips against Nasir’s. 

“Always,” Nasir replied with a grim smile and took to his task. He moved with stealth in the waning light, quickened by latest victory and thought of Agron alive. 

When he returned the woman had died. 

That night no one slept for fear of the enemy. Agron looked grim as the others fed the darkness with fearful whispers. The baby wailed weakly, its first weeks on earth spent fleeing, barely ahead the relentless pursuit of the Roman Republic.

 

***

 

It had been Rome’s last attempt to devour them. The gods were with them, it seemed, and no one else was for the afterlife. The sun was close to zenith when they reached the wooded foothills several days later. Spirits were high and voices grew louder and more confident. They set camp next to mountain stream, the icy water a last reminder of wintry mountains. 

Nasir and Agron set up a tent for the first time since before battle. It was a temporary roof, a temporary home, but Nasir thanked the gods for it. Sure to greet each other soon in the afterlife, they had scarce belongings. They were tightening the ropes when a little boy called Agron away, and Nasir put on finishing touch alone. When he was done, he looked around and in bareness of tent he saw promise of future. 

When still a slave, Nasir had not questioned fate. Purpose had been to please his Dominus, in all things. Nasir had always known what it was to be desired, his Dominus a man of refined taste and Nasir his choice possession. He had given many pleasures and was no stranger to the more advanced tastes of his master. Gaining attention of Agron, a man Nasir desired, had been unknown dish with unfamiliar taste, sampled with caution and curiosity alike. And Agron proved greatest surprise, equipped with rare tenderness and a capacity for love Nasir had never known. Absent the man his thoughts had strayed to, Nasir grew impatient and so went to seek him out.

He found Agron in the sun, brooding over one of Spartacus’ maps. Nasir stepped close, cup of water in hand. 

With a warm smile, Agron accepted. “Gratitude.”

“What now?” asked Laeta, who had come up behind Nasir. “Where shall we go?” 

Nasir looked at Agron, who took a deep breath and assumed the role of leader once again.

“Wherever the gods will provide for you. You are free, as Spartacus promised,” Agron announced in carrying voice. Their little group gathered around him, faces filled with tentative hope and fearful anticipation. Many had dreamt of this day and now that it had come it still felt like a dream. “Burden of choice is upon you. As slaves you had to give no thought to question of livelihood. The fucking Romans took that from you. You are free to return to the places you once called home if you yet remember. Or begin anew far from fucking muzzle of the Roman beast. As all of you bear the mark of your domini, stay away from large towns where the Romans have hand in commerce and watchful eyes upon their people. May you live many years in hard-earned freedom before you leave this world for the afterlife, where we shall be reunited with those who gave their lives in battle and those who were taken from us by Roman savagery! Before we part we shall hunt and then have proper feast to celebrate passage of hazardous journey past, and to honour Spartacus’s memory!”

Whilst the crowd was cheering, Sibyl came up beside Nasir. She looked fragile as a bird. “Wish that we could count Gannicus among our numbers. He would not miss a feast and I would not miss his touch.” 

Knowing too well how she felt, Nasir put a hand on her shoulder. “Wish that we could.” 

“Where will you go?” she asked. 

Heart seized upon chest as Nasir looked to the tall man who was surrounded by Spartacus’s people. Agron had been content to follow Spartacus and fight by his side, yet Spartacus had trusted him to lead on more than one occasion. For Agron there was no higher honour than to prove worth in battle, no greater proof of trust than to be asked to join a fight. With damaged hands and hubris defeated by nemesis, he stood no longer the impulsive, deadly warrior Spartacus had to reign in. Yet now with dearest friend resting forever beneath his shield, he stood as a leader. Pride and gratitude warmed Nasir’s heart as he said, “No plan has been struck, yet I shall not be parted from Agron as long as we both draw breath.”

“The gods show you deserved favour,” Sibyl said quietly. Nasir nodded, fearful that they may yet withdraw it. 

 

***

 

“Nasir!” Agron kissed him in greeting, spirits obviously raised. “I have been looking for you. Come!”

“Apologies, Laeta,” Nasir called, already being led away by Agron. Topic of discussion had been Spartacus, as the Roman had offered comfort to the man but was left absent it at his death. Nasir liked Laeta but for most of her life she had stood a domina and the shadow of her past never wholly left her. Of all fugitives, her fate might be hardest, for she stood alone and was now exiled from her people. 

“What is of such importance that you drag me from conversation?” Nasir asked, smiling. 

“Patience,” was Agron’s reply, as he led Nasir to their tent. Once inside, he reached for the map he had been studying earlier. “I found it,” he finally said with barely suppressed excitement.

Nasir shook his head in confusion. “Found what?”

“The place where journey ends,” Agron explained. He pointed at a mark on the map. “Here.”

Nasir leant forward and then smiled. Yes. Yes, this was where they were meant to go. 

“What do you say?” asked Agron. Nasir’s reply was swallowed by yells of shock and surprise coming from the camp. After sharing one look, Nasir reached for his spear and they both charged outside. 

A scattered group of fugitive slaves was arriving, alive yet looking worse for wear than their little group. 

Agron let out a startled laugh. “Fuck the gods! Pollux!” 

“Agron! I believed you dead!” 

“We both cheat death,” Agron replied. Nasir watched as the two men who yet remained of the brotherhood shook hands in greeting. 

“And your little man lives, too!” Pollux beamed at Nasir. “The Romans never saw him coming, eh?”

Nasir grinned. “And neither will you.” 

“Come, share food and shelter! We went hunting today and had good fortune,” Agron invited the newcomers. 

“Gratitude! I would have words, too,” replied Pollux. Nasir had never come to love the man as he had Donar or Lugo, but he had been a gladiator at the House of Batiatus longer than Spartacus and Agron, and he stood as trusted brother. To see him alive warmed heart. 

No one went hungry that night, yet joy came mainly from the knowledge that many more had survived and found a way across the mountains. Several fires warmed the former slaves as they shared stories and words of comfort. Agron and Pollux sat facing each other, their eyes illuminated by the fire in their midst. Nasir carried a plate full of spring lettuce and sank to the ground close to Agron. 

“What of Spartacus?” asked Pollux as soon as he had devoured a large chunk of crisply roasted meat. 

Agron’s reply did not come fast. Nasir could see the pain in his eyes. “We buried him at the foot of the mountains.”

“He escaped from field of battle then?”

Nasir said, “We came upon him fighting Crassus himself. Yet it was not a fair fight and Spartacus had been pierced by spear and sword.”

“Fucking Romans,” Pollux growled. 

“We took him to safety but his wounds were fatal. He died with words of wife and freedom upon tongue.” Agron looked down at his hands, face so dark with grief as if he had to reach out and close his brother’s eyes again. 

“So they did not lay hands upon his body. Good.” Pollux nodded grimly. “It was a good death then. He died a free man after he had given Rome cause to tremble.”

“He kept that promise,” said Agron. “Rome will not forget.” Nasir reached out and laid hand on Agron’s shoulder, receiving grateful smile in return. 

“What now, brother? Will you continue the cause?” was Pollux’s next question.

There was no hesitation this time. “No. Rebellion died with Spartacus, for success was tied to the man I called brother. I would gladly forever bathe in Roman blood but my fighting days are over.” Agron held up his hands. “Spartacus could not find peace in this world because the love of his life had been ripped from his arms. I stand luckier.” Nasir had mere time to blush before he found himself pulled sideways into brief embrace. 

Pollux laughed. “Right you are! Me, I shall go west or south and open a whorehouse. There is coin to be made in trade with lustful flesh.” 

Nasir, who knew that trade too well, wished him to be unsuccessful. 

Absent drinks celebrations came to early conclusion. When Nasir rose to retire to their tent Agron was quick to follow. 

“I thought this day would never fucking end.” Agron groaned. “It warms heart to see another brother alive but too many speeches ruin appetite and tire mind.”

Nasir unfastened his armour. “Did you mean it? Given opportunity you would not take up sword again against Rome?”

Agron gave him a troubled look. “Banish thought from mind, opportunity will not arise.”

Nasir did not reply but busied himself with lighting the few candles left in their possession. 

“Nasir.” Agron’s voice was soft and intimate, as he stepped up behind Nasir and laid hands upon his arms. “Without your aid I would not have stood by Spartacus’ side in final battle. I saw conflict to conclusion, yet decision to drag you to what I believed was certain death burdened heart beyond measure. Your life was in the balance and I would not have it so again.”

Nasir turned around. “Yet you still do not hold your life in same regard.”

Agron frowned. “Rome is forever enemy. Duro’s life was cut short by fucking Romans. I thirsted for vengeance and Spartacus gave me righteous war to see blade steeped in Roman blood. Yet I stand no longer the man who left Batiatus’ ludus. I followed Spartacus because I believed his cause just. We gained our freedom and made the Romans pay for grievances given. I would have gladly given my life but, unlike my brothers, I was not fated to die upon field of battle. I do not stand proud survivor yet your words on mountainside were heard and of no small import. With Spartacus no longer of this world I consider my debt paid. Now I would enjoy freedom with the one who holds my heart.”

Nasir’s face broke into a smile, slow and heartfelt. “As I would enjoy it with you.” 

Agron returned the smile, reached to cup Nasir’s face and leant down for a kiss. Nasir sighed, his hand curling around the nape of Agron’s neck, holding him close. Before long, Agron’s lips were drawn down, licking and biting the sensitive skin of Nasir’s throat. A hiss escaped him, as teeth marked territory, rousing Nasir’s desire. 

If asked Nasir would not know the words to voice what meaning Agron held for him. He held Nasir’s heart, yes, but more so Agron filled a void hollowed by years of service to his Dominus. Agron’s love was absolute and every boisterous vow was accepted with incredulity and flattered amusement. How he who had held no meaning beside ability to give pleasure to his Dominus was cherished beyond reason by this tall, perfervid warrior was forever true miracle of freedom for Nasir. Freedom to desire and see desire fulfilled with greatest care and tenderness. Never did Agron see to his own pleasure before seeing Nasir’s satisfied. 

Thus, when subligaria lay entangled on grassy ground and both men entwined on makeshift bed, Nasir arched into Agron’s touch with breathless smile and total abandon. Nasir’s hands were never idle with so much skin to touch, such deep pleasure to return. Fingers dug into Agron’s flexing cheeks as hard cock thrust deep into Nasir. Claim was made with jarring force yet kisses remained light and adoring, feathery caresses on Nasir’s neck and lips. It was maddening contradiction that took Nasir closer to climax and he lifted his legs high up on Agron’s shoulders to feel him even deeper, and be completely filled. Agron gasped with exertion, muscles working hard under his skin, as he drove into Nasir, again and again. Their faces close, Agron leant in for deepening kiss, his tongue soft and torturously slow whilst cock pushed relentlessly deeper. Strain upon legs was nearly unbearable but so was piercing delight, spiking with every move. Soon Nasir succumbed to waves of pleasure with sharp intake of breath and high-pitched moan, his grip tightening on Agron’s lower back. Agron’s teeth pulled on Nasir’s lower lip as thrusts slowed down and became more deliberate. Nasir felt movements coming to stuttering halt as Agron’s desire was seen to completion. 

His blissful smile faded only when Agron dropped to his side with grimace of pain, a curse on his lips and left hand massaging right. 

“Let me see,” Nasir said, batting Agron’s left hand away and unwrapping bandaged right.

“Fuck the gods,” Agron cursed. 

“They could fare worse,” Nasir remarked absent-mindedly. Nasir’s legs had not been the only thing strained. Agron’s wound had not reopened, but flesh was still tender where nail had pierced skin and muscle. 

“I shall apply ointment later,” Nasir said and kissed bruised skin. Agron hissed and withdrew his hand.

“I cannot grip fucking sword and now I can’t stroke fucking cock?”

Arena may have been brought down but penchant for hyperbole stands strong as a rock, Nasir thought wryly. “You can’t grasp reason either if you believe I stand unsatisfied,” he retorted, body still thrumming with echoes of past pleasures. 

Agron snorted in disbelief. “Yet pleasure is weakened by crippling injury.”

“Crippling only by show of impatience.” 

Avoiding his eyes, Agron harrumphed in disbelief. Unperturbed, Nasir reached for his hand again to fasten bandage. Under skilled administration tension left Agron’s body. Eventually, he allowed Nasir to pull him down again. They came to lie face to face and so close that they breathed the same air. 

Agron shared anxious look. “How can I protect you with hands as feeble as a woman’s?”

Nasir suppressed a smile, imagining Naevia’s face. “I am not defenceless. Thanks to patient teachers, I am a warrior. As you well know.”

Agron grunted assent but the glimmer of doubt did not leave his eyes. Nasir finally glimpsed source of hesitation. His smaller hands closed around Agron’s and pulled them up to his heart. 

“Cast aside doubt. These injuries bear testimony to your bravery. Men from the lands east of the Rhine are hard to kill and harder yet to break. I would not have you different. You would still hold my heart were hands limp and boneless.” He pulled up the other man’s hands even further and pressed tender kisses against the tips of his fingers.

Face open and bare of defences, Agron blinked. Whispers of love and soft kisses had succeeded where sword and spear had failed, yet victory would not be abused by one who stood equally disarmed. Nasir knew only too well that doubts could be cut down but never slain, too deep was fear of loss and abandonment born of unconditional love. Yet fighting they were free. 

_FIN_


End file.
